


Luck of the Draw

by Jaseish (Kymopoleia)



Series: LR Multiship Week 2017 [4]
Category: LoliRock (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, High School AU, LoliRock Multiship Week, god i love this, this is a shitpost and also quality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-22 18:12:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11972883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kymopoleia/pseuds/Jaseish
Summary: Lyna drops him the note as she passes his desk in English class, which she was lucky to share with him. They’d never talked before, but Iris had suggested she hit him up when she voiced concern over her old weedman dropping out of school to pursue competitive clown-themed tilapia racing. Needless to say, his sudden move to Tijuana was unexpected and met with confusion and disapproval from all of his clientele.





	Luck of the Draw

**Author's Note:**

> give... give this a chance if you value my iristo writing. or my one talisto fic. or writing as a genre. or the moon. or tijuana. or competitive tilapia racing, whatever that is.

Lyna drops him the note as she passes his desk in English class, which she was lucky to share with him. They’d never talked before, but Iris had suggested she hit him up when she voiced concern over her old weedman dropping out of school to pursue competitive clown-themed tilapia racing. Needless to say, his sudden move to Tijuana was unexpected and met with confusion and disapproval from all of his clientele.

His blue-gray eyes studied her back as she retreated to her seat, no doubt trying to understand the sudden interest in him, or what purpose the small slip of paper could hold. In his hands he held a universe of possibilities, signed in green pen with a heart at the end, and she knew it.

Lyna glances at him as she sinks into her seat, her hair pulled into a braid over one shoulder and her half-undone overalls and white crop top the pinnacle of modern fashion. Her meticulously cleaned sneakers rivalled only his own in both style and expense, making her an enigma to the teenage boy with a piece of her heart in his hands.

He opens the note. Her eyes don’t leave his forehead and hair, close shaven, as his head bends to take the material in.

He closes the note. He pulls out his phone. Lyna had included her phone number, so she isn’t concerned that he’s ignoring her. No, she tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear and pulls out her own phone, hiding it underneath the edge of her textbook, so glad that the teacher didn’t care what they did so long as they aced the tests and turned the homework in with ample time to grade.

UNKNOWN NUMBER – how much do u want?

Lyna cracked a smile, unable to keep a poker face. How simple, how straight to business. She hadn’t had that with her former weedman, he’d always bullshitted and taken his customers in circles, usually leaving them having spent much more than they wanted to and with odd drugs that was not, in fact, what they’d come to him for. She’d once witnessed him get a boy alone for twenty minutes and in the span of those twenty minutes, the boy spent an arm, a leg, and half of his kidney on a bag of ecstasy and two ounces lesser than the amount of weed that he’d come for. She’d been very careful after that, but still ended up getting charmed too often. Maybe it was a good thing, the weedman would be a very good tilapia-racer, whatever the hell that was.

ME – can we meet at lunch to discuss? I need a stable supply

UNKNOWN NUMBER – are u sure I’m looking for stable clients?

Her audible snort disrupts the audio book, but she’s lucky to cover her mouth and to have the teacher look away, obviously assuming that she’d fallen asleep and just woken up, or had some other likely reason for the interruption of the text that she’d really just read on her own time and do the assignment for when she wasn’t more concerned with the slope of his shoulders and the crook of his nose, the bulge of his biceps and the pretty way his fingers moved over the phone screen.

ME – meet me at lunch and we can find out. U come highly recommended.

UNKNOWN NUMBER – highly recommended?

ME – iris?

UNKNOWN NUMBER – save my number as robot fucker. No caps. Ur choice of emoji.

Lyna couldn’t stifle this snort either.

ME – got it cap’n robot fucker

ROBOT FUCKER – that works

~

They meet outside in the courtyard, under the shade of the ugly cottonwood tree that PTSA had tried and failed and tried and failed and tried and failed to get rid of. There’s a table with an umbrella over it that catches anything unwanted from the tree and sags with waterweight from never getting overturned in the rain, but it’s certainly a great place to go if you don’t want people to overhear you. The metal table is never as sticky hot as the rest, and the ugly tree makes the market value of the juniors-and-up courtyard nearly as bad as sitting inside with the freshman who liked to poke carrots between their teeth and laugh about quaint things that the seniors claimed to be beyond, but would in actuality return to as soon as it was deemed ‘cool’ again.

Lyna felt she could write an anthology in highschool, but alas, she was still one of them and her main concern was sitting under the dangerously tipping umbrella with a boy she didn’t know, but was very interested in finding out the thread count of his bedsheets at home. She wasn’t sure if it’d be 600 or lower and feel cheap, or a 1000 or better with his income.

“So, you’re interested in buying?” He says, eyes looking up at her from under dark lashes. He’d brought food from the gas station around the corner, though she had no clue when he’d left to go get it. She’s almost envious, except her luxuriously microwaved feast-from-home is in front of her, steaming slightly from the private comforts of her creative writing class where her teacher had oh so graciously allowed her to make use of the facilities.

“Well, Dylan officially left two weeks ago and my supply ran out Thursday. I’m interested in not having a repeat of this weekend.” She stabs a piece of broccoli and brings it to her mouth, blowing on it delicately. “I’m sure you’ve had quite a few people coming to you, looking to buy.”

“My stash is running low, and I don’t get it in often. What do you have that makes you a higher priority than them?” His eyebrows rise, the cheap funyun between his fingers shining in the dapple of sunlight that made it through.

“I smoke for my anxiety,” She began, only to be cut off.

“So does everyone else who comes by. We’re in AICE Psych together, as well as AP Zoology and Morgaine’s math class.”

“The prescription I have kills my energy. So I smoke, get a lot done, revise the next morning. This weekend I couldn’t do anything at all.”

He considers her proposal, popping the funyun into his mouth. “Well, how do you feel pricewise?”

“Positively. I tip.”

He whistles. “And what if I overcharge?”

“Then I still tip. I like deals that are…”

They regard each other for a moment while she decides on a word.

“Clean.”

A bird caws overhead. There’s an odd rippling movement in the light overhead, something intangibly different, then the slightest ripping sound.

A waterfall opens onto the metal table.

Their food, soaking wet. Sap and leaves and bark and enamel pins and whatever else had been trapped in the deadly pocket of the umbrella above them. What’d once held back the pus pocket of the world now betrayed two vulnerable patrons of its protections, leaving them staring at each other in shock, soaking wet and shaking with barely perceptible rage at the bad hand life had dealt.

Lyna swallows the bite that’d been in her mouth. The sun beats through the broken umbrella.

~

Kyle pushes her into the wall, his mouth crashing into hers like a double decker bus wreck and her eyes seeing stars more clearly than any astronomy course could demonstrate.

They’d snuck into the gym’s men’s locker room to clean up while they finished their conversation, the decision unanimous and silent but speaking volumes to their character. However, once faces were washed and eyes met again, the spark just kind of… lit itself.

Lyna tangles a hand in his shirt, yanking it up to reveal imperfect abs and gasping against his lips.

His teeth graze her bottom lip and her braid starts to come undone, one of her legs wrapping around his waist.

Their hips roll against each other.

This wasn’t the thread count, but she was getting there.


End file.
